Rollin' Back The Years
by vicodin-vixens
Summary: A summarization of House and Wilson's relationship throughout the years. Could be read as either friendship or slash. We prefer slash. We own nothing but our own friendship and that's usually enough for us.


**House**

It's 1996, and you're dancing with Stacy. She looks beautiful, like always, and it bores you. Her head rests on your shoulder and the weight of it seems crushing. You move on auto-pilot as you cross the floor, the strains of "Wonderful Tonight" distant in your ears. They're dancing too. All stupid smiles and whispers. Doctor and Mrs. Wilson. You sigh and hold Stacy tighter, struggling under the weight.

****

It's 2007, and it's all your fault. That isn't true. Not really. You know that. But he believes it, and that's enough to make it so. She's dead. You can't change it. And he wishes it were you instead.

****

It's 1999, and you've never felt pain like this in your life. It's excruciating, and all encompassing. Slowly you force your eyes open and look blearily around the room. Stacy is holding your hand, teary eyes not meeting yours. Wilson stands behind her, his face a mix of naked relief, and apprehension. He knows something you don't, and he knows you won't like it. His eyes never leave your face.

****

It's 1994, and you're sitting in a hotel bar in New Orleans, watching. He's staring at that envelope again, nursing his fifth beer. He's been doing this for the past two days. He sits, he drinks, he stares at the envelope. And you stare at him. You can't seem to stop. The music changes and you see a flash of something cross his face. Annoyance? Distress? It's the first real expression you've seen. You keep watching.

****

It's 2009, and you're crazy. You think. You can't be sure. You're not sure of anything now. Well, that's not entirely true. You look at Wilson, standing, frozen, next to the car. You're sure that you're breaking his heart. You wonder how many times he can keep putting it back together before he stops giving it to you at all.

****

It's 1999, and your leg hurts. So does your pride, now that she's gone, but you're using scotch, not Vicodin, to treat that, and, all in all, you think you're doing pretty well. Wilson disagrees, like usual. That's why he's been here every night this week. He brings food, and movies, and although you've told him repeatedly that he's both uninvited and unnecessary, you're glad that he comes. You wonder briefly if Bonnie misses him on these nights, but then you remember that you don't care, your hierarchy of needs outranks hers, and you reach for another potsticker.

****

It's 2010, and, according to Wilson, it's your turn to do the laundry. He gives you a litany of instructions that you both know you're going to ignore, and reminds you that you still owe him seventy-five dollars for your share of the cable. He heads back into the kitchen to start dinner, and you smile, and think, 'This is _it_. This, right now, is _enough_.'

****

It's 1972, and you're in your room, avoiding your father and playing your guitar. You can't quite get the slide right. Outside your window, you hear the whir of 3, no, 4, bicycles, and a jumble of voices, laughing and yelling. Tommy Rogers and his trio of morons. You roll your eyes and focus on your fingering. You're not lonely. There's a difference between being _alone_ and being _lonely_. Losers are lonely. You just don't want to waste your time on idiots. Sooner or later, you figure, you'll meet someone you can actually stand to be around. Until then, you've got better things to do. You take it from the top.

***

**Wilson**

It's 1994 and you're sitting inside a cold, filthy jail cell, thinking for the hundredth time that you don't belong here. You open your mouth to explain your situation once more, and surprisingly, the officer tells you that you've been bailed out. You don't instantly recognize the tall man with the startlingly blue eyes and mischievous grin, and it isn't until he's introduced himself that you figure it out. Still, you can't quite understand why a complete stranger would bail you out. He does, though, and you accept his gift gratefully. It's better than the alternative.

****

It's 2009 and you're trying to distract yourself with work, when Cuddy opens your door. House follows. You know instantly by the haunted look in his eyes that he's not all right. He hasn't been for some time, but you've both deluded yourselves into thinking otherwise. Hoping otherwise. The drive to Mayfield manages to be both the longest and the quickest ride of your life. You want to hold him and reassure him that everything will be just fine, but the truth is...you're not sure it will be.

****

It's 2006 and yet another marriage has failed. You pack your bags, wondering why you don't feel more upset. She cheated on you. She left you. And somehow you're okay with that. Bags in hand, you knock on his door and feel better than you have in days when he lets you in and offers you a beer. You could have just as easily went to a motel, where at least you would have a bed instead of his tattered old couch to sleep on. But you wouldn't have been nearly as comfortable.

****

It's 2007 and Amber is dead. You realize that she was really a more socially acceptable version of him, and now she's gone. You tell him you're leaving, but you don't really want to go. What you really want is for him to show you some sign of emotion - for him to tell you how much you mean to him, or that he understands your pain. Of course, he doesn't. Leaving any one of your wives has never been this difficult.

****

It's 2010 and you know you're being an idiot - donating a piece of your liver to this "friend" who doesn't even know you well enough to know that you prefer being called James instead of Jim. But because it seems like the right thing to do, because your stupid conscience won't leave you alone, you're going to go through with it. And it hurts you when House says he won't be there for the surgery, even though his reasoning is as much of an emotional breakthrough as you're ever going to get. But just before you close your eyes, you look up and he's there. And you think that if his were the last face you ever saw, you'd be okay with that.

****

It's 1995 and you're moving to New Jersey, to take a job in the Oncology Department at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. You'll tell him (if he ever asks) that you're moving there in hopes of reconnecting with your brother, Danny. Which isn't exactly a lie. But it isn't the whole truth, either. You heard the quiet plea in his voice when he told you about the job opening. It meant he wanted you there. And you wanted to be there, too. Closer to him. Not once do you question the absurdity of the level of co-dependence you've both reached after only several weekends together and twice-weekly phone conversations.

****

It's 2006 and you've just struck a deal with Tritter. You tell yourself it's for House's own good, that rehab is what he needs, that it's better than jail time, that at least he'll still have his medical license. You tell yourself you're doing it to _help_ him. But the look on his face is killing you. He thinks you're doing for yourself. Maybe he's right. If that's the case however, how come you feel worse than you did before? You referred to yourself as 'Judas' for a reason. You betrayed him. Whatever your reasoning, you _betrayed _him. That knowledge is enough to nearly destroy you.

****

It's 2010 and it's just the two of you, in your new place, watching television and drinking beer. And you think this is the way it should always be. The two of you. You catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye, his face is a little more lined, and his hair is a little more sparse, but his eyes are still the same startling blue as they were on the night you first met. And despite the fact that the couch resembles carrot-coloured vomit, there really is no where else you would rather be.


End file.
